The Yecine stood rigid in the small home. Each slight touch of her spirit against any surface brought a fresh wave of sensation - the longing so fierce it made her hyperventilate, the anger that burned like snaking acid under her skin, and the fears so chilling that her stomach felt like a lump of solid ice.
Finally unable to continue, she pulled back everything and just breathed to collect herself. Qatrand felt frayed, vulnerable, and all too overwhelmed. When she spoke, her low voice held such a thick emotional tone that it sounded like she was growling.
"I had no idea you would be like this."
The brunette hung back and lowered her head. Her spirit had pulled inward the moment she felt her beloved recoil hers. Shame blanched her young cheeks. It was not the first time she had ever heard that kind of assessment, though she had hoped those kinds of words would never be spoken to her by the swordswoman.
